


It was a February Day

by Bumblie_Bee



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: A little angst, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Connor cooks, Evan is oblivious, Fluff, Getting Together, Jared Kleinman Is a Good Friend, M/M, Pancakes, Valentine's Day, also an annoying one, and is cute af, but I don't think you guys have pancake day in america and it was necessary for the plot, but a very happy ending, dont, fight me, heidi's mom is british, no, or in denial, slow burn from Jared's point of view, still set in america, the british sort though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-05-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:02:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24062554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bumblie_Bee/pseuds/Bumblie_Bee
Summary: It’s pancake day, and as per usual, Evan is making pancakes. Not with his mom like he used to because he’s at college now, but with his flatmate, just as they have done the past two years.It’s also Valentine’s day, apparently, but that’s irrelevant because Evan isn’t in a relationship. He’s single, happily single, and totally not in any way in love with said flatmate.Nope. No. Definitely not.
Relationships: Evan Hansen & Connor Murphy, Evan Hansen & Jared Kleinman, Evan Hansen/Connor Murphy
Comments: 4
Kudos: 115





	It was a February Day

**Author's Note:**

> So, the idea of this came to me in February, on pancake day, when I remembered a facebook status a friend written on a year when pancake day had fallen on Valentine's day about how people needed to get their priorities straight because pancake day was clearly a superior event, and then yesterday I decided to write the whole thing up. (And I thought it would be short, but noooope). 
> 
> I did try to find out about pancake day across the pond, but I don't think it really exists there? If it does, sorry! Also, do you flip pancakes/crepes over there? as it flick them from the pan into the air and catch them again? is that a thing? 
> 
> Who knows! Probably many people, just not me. 
> 
> Anyway, Enjoy!

“So, you got any plans for tonight?”

Evan looks up from the ecology essay he’s meant to be working on to find Jared smirking over the top of his laptop. His eyebrows are wiggling pointedly in a way Evan thinks should probably mean something to him, but doesn’t. In the years that have passed since the start of college, the enigma that is Jared has become more of a riddle, more solvable, but at times, Evan still doesn’t follow him at all. This is one of those times, and although he knows Jared is going somewhere with this conversation, he doesn’t yet know where.

“Um, I’m making pancakes, with Connor?” he answers cautiously, aware he might be inadvertently digging himself a hole he’s going to struggle to climb out of with every word.

Over his laptop, Jared nods slowly. His expression has taken on the pinched sort of look of someone who’s trying very hard not to smirk.

“That’s very… domestic,” he says, tone dripping with faux disappointment. 

Evan frowns, not following. “You know it’s- um, I always make pancakes on pancake day? It’s mom’s thing, from her mom, remember?”

Jared sighs dramatically. “Yeah, I know, I know she was British, and your mom likes the tradition yada yada.” He rolls a hand indicatively. “I’m just saying; it’s not very romantic.”

Like a switch has been flicked, Evan kind of understands where the conversation might be going. This fragment at least he has had before. “Why would it be romantic, Jared, it’s pancake day?” he groans, exasperated. “And anyway, we’re just friends, I’ve told you like 500 times.”

For a moment, Jared just stares at him across the table, giving him a look that makes Evan think he might have missed something massive. “Do you even know what day it is?”

“Tuesday.”

Jared rolls his eyes as though he’s wrong. “Fine, date! What’s the date!”

“Oh, um…” Confused, Evan clicks on the time in the corner of his laptop screen and waits for the calendar to pop up. “February 14th,” he reads, frowning. “What about i-… Ohhh. Jared, it’s not- it’s not a date. It’s just pancakes. For pancake day. You know how mom likes to make them-”

“Yeah, I know-”

“And anyway, it’s not- I don’t like Connor. N-not like that.” Evan sighs at Jared’s raised brow. “We’re friends. Just friends.”

“You live together.”

“We’re flatmates,” he explains slowly, because that’s what they are. Friends since the second week of freshman year when Connor had found him having a post got-asked-a-question-in-a-lecture panic attack in a restroom, and flatmates since the end that year when they’d moved out of halls. Jared has been insisting otherwise for nearly as long as they’ve been friends, but he’s just wrong.

Evan doesn’t fancy Connor, not even a little bit, and he knows for sure Connor doesn’t fancy him back. Why would he? There’s nothing fanciable about him. Connor on the other hand. Well, Evan understands entirely why someone would fancy him. He’s tall, and handsome in a sharp sort of way, and has these fascinating heterochromatic eyes. He’s funny too, and clever, and kind, and considerate, and-

“Oh my god, you’re the most stubborn person I’ve ever met.” Jared moans, leaning back in his chair. “Either that or like, ridiculously dense.”

“Maybe you’re just delusional,” Evan suggests with a shrug, pushing Connor out of his mind and turning back to his laptop. He tries very hard to focus on the flashing curser still stuck mid-sentence rather than Jared’s smirk.

“Nope. No one could delude those literal heart eyes you two have for each other. Like seriously, if I could un-see them I would. It’s cringy as hell.” He retches theatrically, much to the disgust of the girl in the next chair along.

Evan gives her an apologetic sort of simile and then frowns at Jared over his laptop lid. “Don’t you have work to do?” he asks pointedly, eyebrows raised. “Midterms start next week.”

“Yeah, I know,” Jared sighs dramatically. “But to me, fulfilling my academic prospects is not nearly as important as making sure you understand the love you guys feel for each other. Can you not see the sacrifice I’m making here?!”

“Jesus Christ, Jared,” Evan mutters, running a hand through his hair and trying not to smile simply because he doesn’t want to give Jared the satisfaction. He leans back in his seat, pulls out his phone and checks the time, and is surprised and irritated to find its past six. The essay on his laptop screen is annoyingly unfinished, but he’s aware if he stays late enough to get it done, there won’t be time for making any sort of pancakes. He’s also aware that with Jared interrupting him every few minutes, he’s unlikely to be all that productive even if he stays.

“I’m gonna head home,” he declares abruptly, closing his laptop with a click with one hand and scooping his pens into a pile with the other.

Across the table, Jared mirrors him and starts packing his bag. Evan’s hardly surprised; he knows Jared’s attention span expired a good hour ago and is pretty sure he’s only still there for the company. It’s nice that Jared likes him enough to stay just to chat, Evan does appreciate his friendship after the lonely hell of high school, it’s just a little unfortunate that Jared doesn’t always seem to understand that people usually sit in the library to work. Half the time, he doesn’t seem to understand that people start their work before the day its due, either.

“Yeah, good idea, it’s getting late,” Jared agrees, shoving his laptop into his backpack. “You won’t have time to make your Valentine’s pancakes if you’re here too long.”

Evan sighs in mock frustration and throws his books into his bag. “They’re pancake day pancakes, and you know it.” He looks up just in time to see Jared shrug nonchalantly.

“Eh, tom-ay-to tom-ar-to,” he says, slipping on his backpack.

Rolling his eyes in despair, Evan shrugs on his own bag and follows his decidedly irritating friend towards the exit.

“You really don’t have to do this, you know?” Evan says from his seat at the table, idly stirring the bowl of water his hand rests in.

Connor glances back from the stove, a spatula in his hand and batter on his cuff. There’s flour in his hair, and more on the front of his hoodie, white coating the black where it wouldn’t have if he’d accepted the apron Evan offered. On his sleeve, there’s a floury, Evan-sized handprint he’s yet to brush away.

“No, I know. But I want to. I like making pancakes with you.” Connor turns back to the pan, briefly considers his creation, and then loosens it with the spatula. “Although,-” he pauses in concentration, a frown Evan can’t help but smile fondly at furrowing his brow as he flips the pancake and catches it again “-I still think these are crepes.”

“Yeah, they kind of are,” Evan agrees, when the pan is back on the stove. “Except on pancake day. You can’t eat crepes on pancake day. That wouldn’t make any sense.”

“No, none at all.”

“Exactly.”

There’s a pause while Connor checks on his pancake, lifting the edge gently with his spatula to peek underneath, before letting it drop back into the pan. When he turns back around, he leans casually against the stove and gives Evan a curious look.

“Not to question your family traditions because my parents do some frankly bizarre shit, but has your mom ever been to England?”

Evan frowns, considering that. “Um, I think her parents took her once when she was little, maybe?”

“But you’ve never been?”

“No,” he admits, craning his head a little to try and see the underside of the pancake as Connor checks it again. “The furthest I’ve been from here is Florida.”

“And, yet…” Connor says pointedly as he slides the cooked but much thinner than normal pancake onto the little stack they’ve already cooked. Evan’s are neater, but Connor’s recent additions on the top aren’t bad for someone who cooks as infrequently as Connor does.

“Yeah, I know,” Evan sighs, “Just go with it.” From the table, he watches as Connor oils the pan again and then ladles in another batch of batter. It’s spreads a little unevenly. “Thank you. For doing this. I know you don’t like cooking.”

“I don’t not like cooking, I just… struggle to see the point when I could just order a pizza.”

In mock irritation, Evan sighs. “Because home cooked food is good for you,” he explains for what he thinks might be the hundredth time. It was back in freshman year when he’d brought up Connor living on takeaway and instant noodles for the first time, and he thinks they might have had the same conversation every week since. Not that he actually minds; he’d lived off little other than pizza during the years his mom had been insanely busy with work and school. Well, that and cereal bars on the days he hadn’t felt well enough to answer the door.

Connor laughs, startling him from his thoughts, and Evan smiles at the sound. “I don’t know,” he says, shaking his head. “My mom used to make this shitty gluten free vegan lasagne and I think there was probably more nutrition in sawdust. More flavour definitely.” There’s a pause as he flips his pancake. “Besides. I do eat home cooked food.”

Evan can’t help but snort at that. “Only when I cook for you!”

“Hey! I do help, sometimes,” Connor protests, waving his oily spatula pointedly. Admittedly, Evan is grateful for Connor’s frequent company in the kitchen when he cooks, and for today’s help with the pancakes, but he’s enjoying teasing enough that he isn’t about to admit it. 

“What, like that time you cut the oranges in half the wrong way?” he asks instead, eyebrows raised and doing his best to look unimpressed despite the grin trying to form on his lips.

“You never specified!”

“You knew I was trying to juice them!” Evan laughs, shaking his head at the memory of the suddenly useless orange halves he’d ended up with as a result from Connor’s brief laps in concentration.

Across the room, Connor sighs in mock annoyance and rolls his eyes. The gesture clashes with the wide smirk he’s unable to hide. “Yeah, I know. I just hadn’t connected-” he breaks off and swears and abruptly turns back to the stove. Rather quickly, he flips over the pancake.

“Ah, shit.”

When Evan gets up to take a look, he finds Connor’s latest pancake is decidedly darker on top than it should be. His nose ruffles at the smell.

“I mean, it’s certainly cooked,” he says, still a little breathless from laughing, and then nudges Connor’s arm gently when he looks up to find an annoyed grimace on his pale face. “Hey, don’t worry about it. I’d have lost way more than that trying to flip them.”

“Maybe,” Connor agrees as he picks up the pan to throw the ruined pancake away. “But you wouldn’t actually have lost any cooking them because you don’t flip them; you turn them over with the spatula.”

“I guess that’s true,” Evan concedes lightly, leaning back against the counter as he dries his hand his jeans, “but it’s also cheating, so you’re still better at properly cooking pancakes than me overall. Besides,” he says when Connor’s back with the empty pan, “you only burnt a pancake, so you’re definitely one up on me, there.” 

Rolling his eyes, Connor huffs a laugh. “Yeah, I’ll give you that one. How’s your hand?”

“It’s fine.” Evan holds his hand up for inspection, watching as Connor’s eyes search out any sign of damage on his unmarked palm. “I said the water was overkill.”

Connor rolls his eyes. “It’s only fine because you put it in the water, dumbass,” he scoffs lightly, putting down the pan and taking hold of the hand. Evan lets him look it over and gently rub his thumb over the once pink and sensitive skin until he’s satisfied it really is okay. It takes a second longer than it should for Connor to let go, but Evan isn’t going to complain.

It’s almost nice to have someone to care about him like that, even if the attention does make him feel a little awkward. Sitting at the table with his hand in a bowl of cold water whilst Connor cooked his pancakes felt weird, too, and if he’d been with anyone but Connor, Evan would have point blank refused and continued cooking despite his stinging palm. He hadn’t been with anyone else, though, it had been Connor there, and Connor has some sort of special effect over him like that.

Evan wonders if it’s because he knows Connor does things like replacing his favourite spatula with a bowl of cold water to soothe his smarting hand because he truly cares that he’s okay, rather than because he doesn’t trust him to look after himself, or doesn’t think he’s able to do something, or thinks him annoying and in the way.

It’s nice.

It’s better than nice.

Connor is better than nice, too.

Evan watches as he ladles the next batch of batter, tilts until the base is covered, and then returns it to the stove. He waits for it to cook, checks it, flips it higher than Evan ever would have dared, catches it again, waits for the second side to cook, and then slips it onto the collection on the plate.

“You okay there?” Connor asks, his head tipped to the side in question and a confused sort of smile on his lips. “You look miles away.”

Evan startles a little, flushes when he realises he’s watched Connor cook an entire pancake and said nothing the whole time. He’s just been smiling goofily at him like some sort of creep. Which, well, Connor’s probably used to that, people do stare at him, he’s a striking man after all, but ‘people’ doesn’t usually include Evan in that sense.

“Oh, um, yeah,” he stammers, voice pitched weirdly, and then, out of desperation of needing something to say and before he’s really thought it though, asks, “Did you know it’s Valentine’s day today?”

Connor’s expression twists oddly, and instantly, Evan’s cheeks darken. “Oh god, sorry. That was weird,” he stammers. “I only- Jared said. Today. He asked me if I knew what day it was because I didn’t get what he meant when he said making pancakes wasn’t very romantic.”

Judging by the weird frown Connor’s wearing, Evan’s sure his rambled explanation hasn’t cleared up the situation in the slightest. If anything, it’s just made it worse, and he finds himself wishing for a hole to form in the floor to swallow him up and save him from the metaphorical one he’s digging himself.

“Not that this is meant to be romantic because why would it be romantic,” he adds hurriedly, “we’re just friends, a-and flatmates but mostly friends. And this wouldn’t need to be romantic even if we weren’t just friends because they’re pancake day pancakes not Valentine’s day pancakes, which makes sense because it’s not like Valentine’s day pancakes are even a thing. A-and anyway, even if they were a thing these ones wouldn’t have to be romantic because-”

“Evan, shut up.”

Evan does so, instantly falling silent and only remembering a second later to close his mouth. He bites his lip, looks at the ground rather than Connor as he frowns at him with an intensity Evan worries might burn. His face is certainly burning with embarrassment. 

“I’m so sorry, that was really weird.”

Connor ignores his comment, tilts his head. He bites his own lips, then says, “They could be both,” in this tight, awkward voice Evan hasn’t ever heard him use before. It takes Evan much longer than it should to process those four words simply because he keeps reaching an explanation for them that just doesn’t make sense. 

“What?” he asks eventually, deciding he must have heard that wrong. Restlessly, his heart thrums in his throat even though there is no way Connor would be implying what Evan’s brain thinks he is.

“The pancakes,” he clarifies quietly, his voice tentative and uncertain. “They could be pancake day pancakes _and_ Valentine’s day pancakes. If you wanted them to be?”

For just a second, Evan thinks his excited heart might just be about to break through his ribs and dance on the batter covered counter before his head beats it down.

“Connor, that isn’t- that isn’t what you want,” he says quietly, firmly, shaking his head.

Connor frowns at him, his eyebrows furrowed in thought and mismatched eyes intense. “How would you know what I want?”

Evan sighs, shrugs helplessly. “Because I’m not… I’m _me,_ and you’re _you_.”

“I… don’t know what you mean.”

“I mean I’m a mess, Connor, I- you know that. A-and you’re not. You’re amazing.”

Connor’s frown deepens. “That’s not true. I’m definitely not not a mess; you’ve seen that,” he mutters quietly, but before Evan can protest, he’s talking again, his voice low and honest. “And Evan, I do know what I want. I want you. I… I have for ages now.”

Evan looks away. “Connor, you don’t, trust me. I’m not- I’m no good, I’m-” The protest dies on his tongue when Connor takes his hand again. His touch is tender and gentle but unwaveringly firm and Evan lets out a trembling exhale but doesn’t pull away. He stays still even when Connor’s grip shifts, his hand sliding over the bump of Evan’s thin left wrist to rest on the exposed skin below. Heart thundering, and breathing shaky, he finds Connor’s eyes.

“Evan, I know you,” Connor says quietly, holding his gaze as he brushes his thumb pointedly over the surgery scar only he, Evan, and Evan’s mom know the true meaning behind. It’s a tale Evan had only found the courage to tell after Connor had sat with him for whole nights during a patch of time in freshman year when his mental health had been dire enough that he hadn’t trusted himself to be alone. He’s doing better now, much better, but he also knows he doesn’t know how long that will be for. He shakes his head, protesting silently because he doesn’t have the words or the breath to explain.

Connor laughs breathlessly. “There’s really no point shaking your head like that unless you are hiding literal skeletons in your closet, because I do know you. I… I know you struggle, sometimes, a lot more than most people do, which isn’t fair, you shouldn’t have to, but it’s okay that you do.” He exhales audibly. “Look, Ev, if this isn’t what you want, then that’s okay, we can just- I can put my feeling back in their box and hammer the lid on tight again and pretend they don’t exist, and-”

“No, Connor, it is,” Evan interrupts, finding his tongue again. “I just- I’m- I don’t think I’m good enough for you. E-even if you discount the fact my brain is a shit show.”

Connor freezes, his expression pained as though it’s him Evan’s insulted, and for a second, he doesn’t look as though he knows what to say. “Evan, that’s- how could you possibly think you’re not good enough for me? You’re incredible.”

Evan scoffs in disagreement. “I’m really not. And you- you’re amazing, Connor. You’re funny and thoughtful and clever and you look like a model? Seriously, your legs come up to here!” Evan indicates mid way up his chest with his free hand before Connor takes hold of that one too. His mismatched eyes are crinkled in a half amused, half baffled frown as he starts talking before Evan can finish his explanation.

“Okay, we’re just going to ignore the fact that so much of that was bullshit and you very kindly didn’t mention the anger problems or depression and focus on the fact that you are an incredible human being.” He breaks off to sigh. “Evan please stop shaking your head. You’re genuinely the smartest person I know, like, seriously, you’re pretty much a genius, and you’re kind too, always worrying about other people, putting them before you even when you shouldn’t. And you’re funny, really, I’ve laughed more since I met you than in the rest of my life put together.

“And okay, you might not be model height-” Evan scoffs a little at the understatement- “but you’re still perfect. You have the deepest blue eyes I’ve ever seen, and your hair shines this gold sort of colour in the sun, and, seriously Evan, I swear your smile could light up a room, it’s the best. You’re the best. Seriously, the best person I know. And, you’re the person I want to be with. Even on those shitty days when your asshole of a brain isn’t cooperating.”

A shaky, exhales leaves Evan’s lungs, Connor’s name caught up inside. “I don’t know what to say,” he admits quietly, because while he still doesn’t truly believe any of that could be true, Connor had looked so open, so sincere as he’d said it. He’d looked like he believed what he had been saying, meant it with all his heart.

Connor chuckles a little breathlessly, his eyes crinkling and alight and perfect. “‘Yes,’ would be a good place to start. If you want me, that is,” he says, before his expression becomes more sincere. “Seriously, _if_ you want me, Evan, because, frankly, my brain isn’t the best eith-”

Connor’s words are cut off abruptly when Evan reaches up to kiss him. He’s on his tiptoes, steadying himself on Connor’s hands, and it’s more of a messy peck at Connor’s moving mouth than a proper kiss, but Connor stops and stills, and his eyes dilate. Both the pupils and lids are suddenly wide as saucers. He doesn’t look angry or offended, just surprised, like he hadn’t been expecting that to happen in the slightest, which honestly is fair enough as Evan hadn’t been expecting it either. He thinks he might have shocked himself with his sudden courage even more than he’s shocked Connor.

“I think- um, d-does that answer your question?” he asks, breathlessly, nervously, and smiles shyly up at Connor’s dazed expression. He catches wide mismatched eyes for the briefest of seconds before a set of spindly arms is pulling him close by his shirt and a set of perfect, pink lips are taking his.

It’s a proper kiss this time, messy and uncoordinated, teeth clicking and hands grabbing, and bodies pressed together against the kitchen counter. It lasts longer than Evan had thought it would too, longer than he’d ever hoped for, but eventually and simultaneously much too soon, they part.

Connor’s eyes are wide, the pupils blown, and his grin is the broadest Evan has ever seen it. Evan thinks his own expression might be similarly awed. For a long minute afterwards, they just stare, taking in bright eyes and flushed complexions, and although Evan doesn’t know what Connor’s thinking while he stares, Evan’s trying to work out how someone so perfect and brilliant could possibly be looking him with a such a goofy, open smile.

That someone looks almost dazed, like he might be in shock, and Evan thinks he might be too, because literally five minutes before, this was something he never thought could happen.

Somehow, it has though, and now both of their cheeks are flushed and their lips are pink from kissing, and Connor’s hand is holding his with a tightness Evan’s sure he couldn’t slip free from even if he wanted to. Not that he does want to. Not now, not ever. He’s selfish enough that he wants this to last forever. 

“Well, what now?” he asks quietly, breathing heavily and lightheaded from kissing. He isn’t entirely sure if it’s due to lack of oxygen because he’s pretty sure he hadn’t breathed for the entire thing or the fact he had been _kissing Connor_ or a combination of the two. He knows his heart is racing from the second option, though. It feels bigger in his chest, swollen almost, in a way he would probably find alarming if he wasn’t so sure on the reason.

“I don’t know,” Connor answers, panting a little. He looks utterly stunned, and the hand that isn’t still holding Evan’s is resting on the counter as though he needs the support to stand. “Eat pancakes?”

Evan coughs out a shaky laugh. He’d meant in the long run, but maybe Connor thinks his answer to that is obvious enough it doesn’t need words. “Are you hungry?” he finds himself asking incredulously instead. “ _Now_?”

Teasingly, Connor smiles. It lights the room. “No, but I made you Valentine’s day pancakes, so it would be rude not eat them.”

“Valentine’s day pancakes aren’t a thing,” Evan protests weakly, eyes still locked with Connor’s.

Connor looks at him, smirks. “For sure they are,” he disagrees distractedly, and then he tilts his head again. Licks his lips. “But maybe they can wait, you know, just for a bit.” He bends down, and then before Evan can protest the concept again, Connor’s lips have taken his.

Instinctively, Evan gasps against him and finds his hands eagerly grabbing hold of his shirt, pulling him closer. In his chest, his heart soars in euphoria and his head spins, dizzy with love and lack of oxygen, and his knees feel weak in a way that has nothing to do with forgotten meals. Instantly, all protests of St Valentine’s day pancakes die on his surprisingly busy tongue.

The pancakes themselves are forgotten too, along with the whole concept of pancake day. There’s something much more important to think about than that now, because as it turns out, Valentine’s day isn’t so irrelevant to him after all. Feeling shaky and lightheaded and happier than he has ever felt before, Evan smiles widely against the lips pressed to his, and after a moment, Connor smiles back.

Unlike the pancakes, it’s perfect.


End file.
